I'll Be Seeing You
by Guardian Spirit
Summary: Paris, 1939. On the brink of a war they find each other. AU, Roy/Riza.


The sun shone brightly against the busy landscape and Riza thought, offhandedly, that perhaps her excitement in visiting a new city had been misplaced. When she left Austria with her father she had hoped to see something exciting, something beautiful, something that the decadence of life in Vienna had never allowed her. She had been somewhat disappoint, despite the beauty. Paris was wonderful, but the atmosphere of the city was stiflingly familiar and she had longed for a reprieve. She wanted to escape the confines of her father's small apartment that was littered with papers and drawings of equations she couldn't possibly comprehend. They had been summoned there, to Paris, months ago when the Allied leaders found out that this brilliant scientist was less than sympathetic to the man who had come to rule his country after the Anschluss.

It was probably better that they got out when they did. Lord knows he would be either dead or rotting in some camp if they hadn't.

Her father was working on something that both the French and British seemed intensely interested in. He had tried explaining the logistics to her once, but Riza was not one for complicated formulas and theories. She had excelled in school, could recite Shakespeare with the best of them, but the moment the words came tumbling out of her father's mouth she had found herself less intrigued than she originally assumed she would be. She much preferred the practical uses that came out of the theories he spouted. What she _had _gathered from his long winded explanation however seemed very complicated and dangerous. Nuclear fission. It was no wonder they had been whisked away from Vienna so quickly.

"Father, that man called today about the plumbing."

He continued to scribble away at his desk, mumbling equations into the air. His appearance grew more haggard by the day, his skin all the more pale. Riza found herself arguing with him on a daily basis to get him to eat.

She called to him once more, but again he didn't answer. Moments like this made her long for her mother. What would she have thought of them now?

She made sure to return the call for him later that afternoon.

----

She didn't know what prompted it, but that night Riza found herself at a café she passed by while shopping for groceries. She had come alone, because the only other person she knew in Paris was her father and it was unlikely that he'd leave the apartment for something as silly as a night out. She didn't mind though, not really. It was nice to have the change of scenery. Plus, having her father there would have made the male attention she had been getting that night much more awkward. A handful of men had already offered to buy her drinks, but she had declined each one tactfully. They had each seemed nice enough, but she wasn't interested. Not really, anyway. She was content to sit at her table and nurse the drink she had bought and paid for herself.

(If she was honest with herself, Riza would admit that her tendency to turn away each man that night had less to do with her contentment at being single and more to do with one man in particular. An army officer, more specifically, who she had caught staring at her more than once. She had been waiting for him to work up the courage to come talk to her all night. It brought her no end of amusement that it was taking him so long.)

The band played an old Maurice Chevalier tune, one that her mother had enjoyed very much while she'd still been alive. Riza found herself tapping her foot in time to the music and tried not to feel too embarrassed. She took a sip of her drink.

"Can I dance?"

So he had finally decided to approach her, Riza noted as she turned to the soldier. His german was broken and yet she couldn't help but be taken by this man. Perhaps it was the alcohol speaking, but Riza found herself inexplicably drawn to him.

"Yes, you may," she answered in her perfectly tailored french and he smiled, widely, as she placed her palm in his. She stood and followed him into the space designated for dancing, noting how the nervousness she recognized in his eyes completely betrayed the confidence in his voice. Riza had never thought of herself as particularly beautiful, but she was beginning to rethink that assessment now. He was a terribly handsome man to be getting nervous over her.

"Your French is beautiful," he grinned as they swayed on the dance floor.

"Your German is terrible," she deadpanned and he laughed, voice dancing across her ears. If she had been younger she might have blushed at this handsome man come to sweep her off her feet, but Riza was a strong woman and could hold her own. Still, she could not help the flutter in her chest. Some things were just too ingrained in human nature to be avoided.

"What's your name?" his grip tightened around her waist, dipping her towards the floor.

"Riza Hawkeye. And you are?"

"Roy Mustang," he winked. Riza rolled her eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hawkeye."

"Call me Riza," she found herself saying, "and the feeling is mutual, Mr. Mustang." His eyes crinkled in amusement. He seemed pleased with the permission to use her first name.

"Well if I'm to call you Riza, then you certainly must call me Roy."

She nodded. "Yes, that only seems fair."

They danced for what seemed like hours. She discovered that Roy was a native of Paris - he had been raised by his mother who owned a grocery store on the other side of the city along with four sisters who, it seemed, had left a very good impression on the man. He was absolutely charming. As the conversation continued she learned that he had only joined the army recently, wanting some way to improve the lives of his fellow countrymen. It was admirable, she had told him, to want so much for others. She certainly agreed with his sentiments.

As the night came to an end, Riza found herself disappointed. She couldn't remember the last time she enjoyed herself so much. Reluctantly she followed him to the table he had found her sitting at earlier. From behind she studied the strong way in which he held his shoulders, the deliberateness in each step he took. She liked this man very much.

"Would you like to get lunch with me tomorrow?" he asked, holding up her coat.

Riza smiled.

----

They met at the café again, because it was the only place they had in common and Riza was not so sure she wouldn't get lost venturing otherwise. The sky was gray that afternoon, the clouds threatening to break at any moment. She spotted him almost immediately hunched underneath the awning. He was frowning, a far cry from the carefree expression he wore last night. She approached him hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

Startled, he turned to her, and then chuckled when he realized who it was. "Hello, Riza." His hand reached out to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips. She continued to stare at him, still curious at his seemingly foul mood. He shrugged. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just not a fan of this weather," motioning towards the overcast sky. She shook her head.

"Well, I suppose we should get inside before it rains then, hm?" Roy nodded in agreement, commenting on her practicality. She moved to open the door, but stopped when he didn't follow her. "Roy?"

He hesitated, mouth opening and closing in a way that reminded Riza of the fish at her estate in Vienna. He finally settled on closing it, shaking his head as the smile grew wider. "Nothing, you just... You look beautiful, that's all."

Over the next few weeks Riza began to wonder how it was that she had gone the past twenty years without ever knowing him.

----

"A _man_?"

Riza didn't even attempt to hide her exasperation. "Yes, Rebecca. I _am _capable of meeting them, you know. It's not so novel an idea as you make it seem."

Her friend laughed loudly into the receiver, "Oh Riza, of course I know that. I'm just surprised because it didn't seem like you were getting out much since we last talked. And now some frenchman is courting you! How divine! What's his name?"

"Roy Mustang," she tried to hide the grin in her voice.

"Has he proposed yet?"

Riza coughed, startled. "Rebecca, we... He isn't going to _propose_. We've only known each other for a month. And I'm sure you've heard what they've been saying on the radio. We're nearly on the brink of a war. He could get called into combat at any-"

"He's a soldier?" Rebecca interrupted.

"Yes, he's a soldier."

The line went silent for a moment and Riza began to wonder if they had been disconnected. She was about to hang up when Rebecca's voice came, much calmer than it had been a moment before. "Do you love him?"

Riza paused, mulling the question over in her head. Did she love him? Did she love Roy? She ran a hand up to the base of her neck, twisting the wisps of hair that had escaped her clip. He had commented the other day that he liked when she wore her hair down; the fondness in his tone had said volumes to her. She had learned to read him now and could pick up on the subtleties of his character, the quirks and habits that made Roy him. They had known each other for a short time, but she found herself loosing track of the days. Riza had always been realistic, but something in the way he looked at her said that perhaps Roy Mustang had been made for her. It was silly and idealistic, this thought, and she brushed it off continuously. Still, it was there.

"Riza?"

"I adore him," she admitted quietly.

----

"Relations with Germany continue to strain. Hitler met with Mussolini early Friday in Berlin, calling for..." Riza turned her attention away from the radio, wondering exactly how long it would be before the entire city, the entire _continent_, was drowned in conflict. Would Roy be called to defend his country soon? She wished desperately that there was something she could do to help. If only women were allowed in the military. She would gladly take up arms to defend her loved ones. She had been hunting a number of times back in Vienna and was more than adequate with a rifle. The military would be lucky to have her, if only they could somehow understand that. She sighed.

Caught within her musings, it took a minute for Riza to register the phone ringing. She stood in one swift motion and grasped the handset, her voice coming out much louder than intended. "Hello?"

The voice that answered her was foreign. She listened carefully as the man asked in accented german for her father and mentioned something about the President. (The President? An American then.) He waited politely on the line while she went to fetch her father from his office. It took three calls of his name this time for her father to register her presence. She fought the urge to yell at him. "Father, someone on the phone is asking for you."

He stared at her quizzically. "Who is it?"

"They didn't say," she responded and then offered, "he wants to speak to you about your research."

The chair he had been occupying tipped over violently as her father stood. All previous thoughts were abandoned as he hurried past her, their arms brushing against one another, but he did not apologize and Riza silently chastised herself for thinking he would. She stood there for a few minutes, listening as her father discussed hurried details with the man on the phone. Not for the first time in her life, Riza wished desperately that her father had never heard of science.

Regardless of how her ears strained, she couldn't digest the information enough to fully comprehend what her father was discussing. She gathered from these intermittent phone calls that it was important, but the specifics always alluded her. What was it exactly that her father spent tireless hours holed up in his study for? Riza wished she could somehow be granted entrance into these secret phone calls and late nights buried in atomic reactions. She wanted to understand what it was that made these men vie for her father's attention.

It wasn't until later, retiring to her room, that she heard the word whispered from his lips. All at once Riza understood.

Bomb.

----

"How could you have never visited the Eiffel Tower?" he laughed, grabbing her hand as he pulled her along the sidewalk. "You've been here how long?"

Riza shrugged, "I never had a reason to go." Roy smiled at her, streetlights reflecting devilishly in his eyes. She became increasingly aware of the thickening crowds as they continued on, turning onto a street she didn't recognize. In the months she had lived here, Riza had mostly kept to herself and rarely left her father's apartment. It had only been coincidence that she had been at that café the night she met Roy. Fate, she mused idly before brushing it off. She didn't believe in such things.

They made several more turns before Riza began to wonder if he was lost, but her worries were unfounded. A line of trees appeared in front of them, stretching off into the distance and Roy continued to walk, becoming increasingly excited. It wasn't until they had passed the tree line onto the pathway that she finally saw it. The Eiffel Tower.

"It's beautiful," she marveled. The entire structure was illuminated, stretching into the night sky as if piercing the darkness; a defiant act of poetry within the industrial landscape. She silently scolded herself for never making the time to come see it. It was enchanting.

Roy wrapped his arms around her, bringing her back to his chest. She felt his fingers dance lightly about her collarbone, tracing lazy circles against her skin. She shivered, though from his touch or the cool night air she didn't know. "It's called the Champ de Mars," his voice low and velvety in her ear, "after the God of War. They used to do military drills here, but I think I might prefer the present state of things." She nodded.

Suddenly Roy dropped one of his hands to his pocket and she did her best to squash her desire to turn to him. Her patience was rewarded as the arm came back around her shoulder, this time with a box in hand. She eyed it skeptically.

"I got you something," he offered as if sensing her apprehension, bringing the other hand up to open the box. The locket inside was simple, though she suspected it's appearance betrayed how much it had actually cost him. The silver shown brightly, illuminated by the same lights that had her in awe only moments ago. Roy released her from his grip, coming around to face her, eyes soft as he brought the necklace to rest against her chest. His deft hands made quick work of the clasp as he added, "I thought perhaps you could put a picture of us in it."

She laughed, because it was a foolishly romantic sentiment, but Roy's grin grew all the wider. He led her away from the path back towards the trees, his gaze tender as it came to rest upon her. She kissed him there under the cover of the trees, his hand resting at the small of her back. She did not care who saw them.

----

"Riza?"

Her heart stilled as she heard her father's voice carry from his study into the dark hallway. She hadn't expected him to be asleep, but she also hadn't expected him to speak to her. Perhaps she had become all too comfortable in their silence nowadays. She approached the entrance to his office tentatively, her fingers clasped in front of her stomach. "Yes father?"

She watched as he lifted his head from his journal to look at her, his eyes carefully scrutinizing her appearance. It only took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Where have you been?"

She was somewhat surprised that he had noticed her absence at all, if she was being honest with herself. These days it took a great deal to drag her father away from his thoughts and usually the things that would had nothing to do with her. The Americans had been calling much more frequently now to ask about his research and, she assumed, to try and convince him to move it there. It was very rare that her father would acknowledge her presence independent of these phone calls, which she usually had the pleasure of answering. This new development in their relationship puzzled her. "I went for a walk."

Her father's eyes roamed to where the necklace hung loosely on her neck. She was happy, for once, that it was so easy for her to hide her thoughts. An emotion she could not identify flashed across his face, but he did not say anything. His vision clouded over and he bowed his face once again to the notes he had been working on before her appearance.

"Would you like anything to eat, Father?"

He didn't answer and she didn't press him further.

----

"He's been showing me around Paris."

"Oh, how romantic!" Rebecca giggled.

There was a pause.

"What do you think you'll do?"

Riza frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When the war breaks out," Rebecca replied.

Riza didn't have an answer for her.

----

"They say Hitler is about to invade Poland," she tested. His gaze never left the window, but his fingers stilled in stirring his coffee and she knew he was listening. Outside posters littered the streets, spelling out very plainly what the people passing by them were trying to forget: war was inevitable. For the first time since they had met Riza became heavily aware of the yellow bars that decorated his shoulders. She fixed her gaze intensely on his face. "Roy."

"Yes, that is what they say." She could tell he was agitated. He was trying to distance himself, she knew that, and she had to fight the urge to chastise him. He was only trying to protect her. Still, he should know by now that she wasn't some delicate flower that needed his protection. She was a strong, capable woman who could take care of herself. Hadn't he just told her that the other day? How infuriating he could be sometimes. It wasn't as if she wanted to be having this conversation. It was Rebecca who had brought it up on the phone the other night. Riza had tried, very uncharacteristically, to put the thought in the back of her mind, but it was getting increasingly harder to avoid. The calls to her father had been almost nonstop lately. A man named Lyman Briggs had called the other night and Riza didn't know why, but it had made her uneasy. She knew enough about her father's work now to know the increased attention meant something bad for the world state of affairs. She hadn't told Roy, but she supposed she didn't need to. He was all too aware of what loomed ahead.

They sat there in silence, Roy nervously stirring his drink, until all but the owner had left. Ten minutes before the café closed they collected their coats and began the walk to her apartment in silence. It wasn't until they were well away from the noise of the main street that he threw his arms around her, clutching at her back as if she were the only thing keeping him upright.

----

Rebecca hadn't called in over a week. It was too dangerous now that France had declared war. Her father too had become busy with the onset of conflict (phone conversations had graduated to secret meetings with officials and she was glad, at least, that he might see the sun every now and again) and so Riza was left most days alone in the apartment. She had given up on listening to the news on the radio by now if only to ease her anxieties. She knew all too well what was going to happen. No need to constantly be reminded.

Riza found herself worrying frequently now. She worried for her father, for Rebecca, for all the friends and family she had back home, but mostly she worried about Roy. He had phoned her several days ago to tell her he wasn't sure when they'd be able to see each other next; his voice had sounded so apologetic and frightened that Riza wished she could have climbed through the phone to wrap her arms around him. In the time they had been seeing each other Riza had known him to be almost annoyingly carefree, so the change in mood he suffered from recently was all the more alarming.

A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. Absently flattening a palm against her wayward bangs she stood to open it, trying not to flinch at the echo of her footsteps. She did not want to talk to whoever it was on the other side of that door that had come to proposition her father. She did not want countries competing for his research only to have it used in combat (it was some small relief, however, knowing that whoever did eventually win her father over, this weapon would not be used against the French. Against Roy). Unlocking the door she prepared herself to explain that her father had gone out, but the words caught in her throat as she came face to face with the one person she hadn't expected. Her face twisted in confusion. "Roy? What are you doing here? I thought you were-"

His lips crashed into hers, sending her stumbling backwards before he reached out an arm to steady her. His grip on her was fierce as he wrapped his remaining arm around her, pushing her into the apartment. Riza found herself getting lost in his scent and wished for it to never end, but eventually the need for air became too great and they broke apart. Arching her back Riza took notice of his features; the worry she had become familiar with was present, but there was also something soft. She reached a finger up to brush away a stray hair resting against his forehead. He shuddered almost imperceptibly.

"Riza..." His head landed lightly against her shoulder, breath warm against the skin exposed by her blouse, "I..."

She brought his face up to meet hers, cradling it in between her palms. The expression he wore was almost drowned in longing and regret. If only they had met under different circumstances. If only he hadn't decided to join the army. Their life together seemed damned by fate before it had hardly begun.

Her lips brushed delicately against his. "No matter what happens, know that I feel the same."

It was enough, at least, that they were here in this moment together, even if this moment was the only one they had left.

----

She could sense the march of soldiers before she heard them, their careful movements as they made their way to receive their orders. The Germans were coming soon and everyone knew it. The city hung low with a sense of foreboding that made Riza shiver. She didn't like it.

The bed sheets hung loosely where her fingers clutched them to her breasts, curves hidden by the sheer mass of fabric. At the end of the bed Roy fastened his boots swiftly, hands working delicately against the buckles. If Riza had been a sentimental woman she might have memorized the way his fingers ran along the leather, committed to memory each dexterous movement, but she wasn't and so the seconds went unnoticed, blending into the hours, the days they had spent together. It was all Roy, all wonderful. The intricacies did not matter to her.

Finally he stood, brushing the lapels of his jacket almost as an afterthought. Riza watched patiently as he turned to her, eyes skimming the length of the bed. He swallowed.

"I don't know when I'll return."

She nodded. Roy's face twisted, his eyes reflecting a seriousness she rarely witnessed from him.

"Riza, I-"

She quieted him, her lips pressed against his, and even though she felt him sigh inwardly at her she did not break away. She already knew all that he could ever want to say to her; she understood him better than anyone else. She knew that he loved her, but didn't need to hear it for the feelings to be validated. They were beyond the monumental speeches, the awkwardness of new love. All she needed was this moment. Him.

Soon the kiss was broken and Roy turned to gather his last remaining things. Shouldering his bag he spared one last glance at her and then reached for the door. His hand rested comfortably on the handle as he stilled, just for a moment, and the words would have been lost if the world around them hadn't been so silent.

"Wait for me."

"Yes."

Somewhere down the street a dog barked.

* * *

A/N: This was originally written for fma_fic_challenge's AU prompt and it ended up winning second place. I'm entertaining the idea of continuing, but I'm not entirely sure. Let me know what you think!


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